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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26025424">Eventide Crowns</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverpetals97/pseuds/silverpetals97'>silverpetals97</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Six - Marlow/Moss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Friends, Gen, Tags May Change, Vigilante AU, Vigilantism, chapter 2 is rated M, some violence, the author does not condone murder for any reason, title may change</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:48:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,309</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26025424</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverpetals97/pseuds/silverpetals97</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hidden beneath high rise buildings and dark factories, bloodshed ran rampant through the city's veins, with the Court at its beating heart. For as long as most could remember, they were residing in a kingdom of ruthlessness and danger.</p>
<p>Some had had enough.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Paragon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A loud <em>thud </em>echoed through the room, rendering the once-bustling office silent.</p><p>Catherine huffed over the small stack of papers on her table, placing both hands onto its cool metal surface and slinking into a swivel chair. She vaguely recognized the slight disturbance she’d caused amongst her coworkers, but they had already returned to their work by now. For a moment, Catherine closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, letting herself revel in the relative serenity for a few moments.</p><p>Those few moments, however, were cut short. Someone stood right beside her.</p><p>“So I take it the trial didn’t go so well.” Catherine cracked her eyes open to be met with one Maria de Salinas.</p><p>“He was acquitted. I don’t know <em>how </em>they found this man not guilty,” she ranted. “My case against him was perfect. I had him dead to rights...”</p><p>Catherine forced herself upright. She picked off some of the loose papers and returned it into an aligned stack.</p><p>Maria took a sip of her coffee. “Nothing we can really do about it now.”</p><p>Losses could often happen in their line of work—that much was true—but she found it almost never happened to her. Her name was Catherine Castile, and she was the best prosecutor their city had.</p><p>“Happens to the best of us. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”</p><p>Catherine scowled but relented. “You’re right.”</p><p>“Didn’t that friend of yours publish a new book?”</p><p>“Yeah, Parr.” She blinked. “Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Here’s what you’re gonna do. Go home, get a bottle of wine, and <em>relax</em>. Go read it. Nobody will mind.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“You deserve it, Lina.”</p><p>She glanced at the windows. The sun had already set since she last looked.</p><p>“Fine.” The prosecutor grabbed her bag, bid Maria goodbye, and set off—but not for a night with a novel and some alcohol.</p><p>As much as she wanted to take a look at the other Catherine’s latest work, that wasn’t what she needed right now. No, she needed something a little different to take her mind off the case.</p><p>After a quick detour for some food, Catherine’s steps echoed through her quiet flat until she stopped short, standing before an inconspicuous closet. She grabbed a key from her bag, opening the lock with a soft <em>click</em>. Setting aside the posh black bag she’d been using for the day, Catherine grabbed the duffel bag sitting in the closet and rushed out to the dead of night—well, dead for most of the population, anyway.</p><p>As she weaved through the network of alleyways in her signature gold and black outfit, mask secured in place, Catherine's thoughts raced to connect the dots on the subject of her latest case.</p><p>Charged for money laundering and extortion, claimed it was for his own benefit. Catherine found that unlikely. No, the Court was likely involved. That was the only explanation for him getting off scot-free. Of course, she’d have to contact Castle for information— </p><p>Her train of thought stopped. That was a problem for another day. Right now, she needed a break.</p><p>Catherine’s eyes zeroed in on the robber in the alleyway on the opposite street—classic black ski mask, gun pointed towards a young woman frantically going through her purse.</p><p>She rushed to the alleyway, keeping herself out of the robber’s line of sight, and when the opportunity presented itself, she made herself known.</p><p>“Let her go,” she said, voice more orotund and distorted thanks to the voice modulator.</p><p>He made the slightest jolt backward, eyeing the belt on her waist. With newfound confidence, the robber unlocked the gun's safety, pressing it closer to the girl. She shrieked. “Got no weapon to protect yourself tonight, huh, Paragon?”</p><p>Catherine paused. <em> Idiota, </em> she mentally scolded herself.</p><p>“I don't need one.”</p><p>In one swift motion, she spun the arm holding the gun and disarmed him with a resounding crack—though she didn’t show it, it had surprised her—followed by a shout of pain. She pointed the gun at him and looked at the girl. She looked young, maybe seventeen, with a slim figure and dark hair. Catherine tilted her head toward the street; the girl got the message.</p><p>Catherine left him off with a warning, if the dislocation hadn’t already said enough.</p><p>That was one guy down, and countless more out there.</p><p>She did what she could to help, though.</p><p>Catherine continued with her rounds in her section of the city. The night gale was much colder tonight, she noticed; the chill seemed to seep through her clothes. Or maybe it was just her instincts going off… the city was eerily silent— </p><p>She spun around.</p><p>Either her senses were going haywire, or someone was following her.</p><p>Catherine, maybe foolishly, decided to follow her instincts and broke into a sprint. As she rounded the corner, something stopped her in her tracks. She had a guess on what—or more accurately, who—it was. </p><p>Before her feet lay a crisp white envelope, with <em> Paragon </em>written on it in eloquent gold-inked cursive.</p><p>What did the Epistolarian want with her?</p><p> </p><p>It was well past midnight when Catherine arrived back at her flat, tossing the duffel bag with her suit back into the closet and locking it away from the rest of the world.</p><p>She smoothed out the letter in her grasp and sliced it open with the letter opener.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Paragon, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm certain you are well aware of the Court and its influence throughout our city. I believe it serves both our interests to eliminate the King, its leader. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> My only caveat is that you'll be working with the Spectre on this mission. I understand that you two aren't on the best of terms, but both you and they are vital to the plan. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Should you agree to my proposition, come to the abandoned theatre on Lancaster St. on Friday 1800. We'll discuss more details on the plan in person. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> As per my usual contracts, you will receive adequate monetary compensation for successfully carrying out your part of our deal.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>In true Epistolarian fashion, they left the letter without any proper closing. And in complete opposite Epistolarian fashion, they were actually going to show themself in person. Highly suspicious, but it was a risk Catherine was willing to take.</p><p>She had her reservations on her “rival”—if you could call them that—but Catherine had to admit, taking down the leader of the Court would definitely benefit the city. And wasn't that why she took up vigilantism in the first place?</p><p>She slid between the covers, ready for her consciousness to be stolen away for a few hours’ time. As she was lulled to sleep, a single thought crossed her mind.</p><p>Catherine would see the fall of the Court through to the end.</p><p>Whatever it takes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Guiltless Ghost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The next day, in another part of the city, someone else gets a letter.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <b>
    <i>tw: murder, violence, knives/daggers</i>
  </b>
</p><p>(also, changed the rating to M.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun,<span> again, rose and set, blue skies settling down into a dark, wispy night. This section of the city, unlike Paragon’s, loomed over every living creature with its towers and skyscrapers. It was also the territory of one Spectre.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>If you asked the residents here, most of them would have the same reply: </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, they’ve never heard of this “Spectre”. And no, they didn’t know who they were. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A lucky few knew of this vigilante. So did an unlucky few—this number always seemed to have a steady decrease… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, the Spectre decided, this number would become one less tonight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Under the cover of night, the tenebrous figure perched on the railing of a low balcony. Right now, she was playing the waiting game. It was boring, she had to admit, but it was part of the job. Green eyes narrowed—the edge of a shadow caught her gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smirked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Got him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The poor bloke stepped into her sightline, and before he could even begin to process what was about to happen, landed with his back against the ground. His eyes darted frantically, glazed over and confused. It wasn’t after a solid… what, fifteen seconds? twenty? that he realized what was going on. Who was out for his blood. He squirmed, and tried so, so hard not to get killed. He was practically begging. (If you asked her, he was most definitely trying too hard.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't deserve mercy after all the damage he’d caused to so many helpless people, time and time again. He was out of chances.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The figure unsheathed a glimmering silver dagger from her belt, and at that moment, their target had oh so cleverly ripped off the mask hiding the lower half of her face. Just as all her previous marks did. After all, it was always a perfect distraction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he whispered, “you're dead—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The figure smirked, blood dripping over silver, and a spattering of red on his neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The vaguest sense of regret washed over her, but she pushed it back to the recesses of her mind like she always had. This was for the better, she reminded herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The figure secured the mask back into place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as they came under darkness, in the dark they left.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” a voice buzzed in Anne's ear, “Hoffman?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dead,” she said, cleaning the blood off from her dagger. The first few words of the beginning of a ramble left Anne’s lips until she was interrupted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know I don't wanna hear it. Just”—a sigh—”at least it's done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anne laughed, sheepish. She understood why Amaryllis wasn’t fond of discussing her operations, but the girl was on comms with her so seldomly it slipped her mind sometimes. “So, do you wanna get McDonald’s or somethin’?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You… don’t like McDonald’s?” Anne said, storing up her equipment for the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I do. But why bring that up? You don’t even know where I am, and you wouldn’t want anyone to know what you look like, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was trying to cheer you up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“… </span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mari, c’mon. During the few times you’re with me, you always just sound so sad. Bet you're even frowning on the other side.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She scoffed. “Am not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anne decided it was best not to press. Amaryllis was already doing a huge favour for her, filling in for Castle tonight. “Got anyone new for me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spec, don't change the… You know what? Never mind,” she said. “I have some people lined up… who do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anne thought it over. “Surprise me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A </span>
  <em>
    <span>ping</span>
  </em>
  <span> from her laptop—a new mark profile. She pulled up the information.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sent.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A grin spread across her face. “Perfect.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Accused of money laundering and extortion, found not guilty. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> a member of the Court,” Mari ran it over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three sharp raps on the door and Anne has her dagger ready. She tuned out Mari's rambling. (That was probably important to the next operation, but she’d just read on it later.) Then it caught her eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The Spectre</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She let loose a string of curses. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Epistolarian</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all people found her hideout.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spec?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighed. “It's the Epistolarian.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pause. “Who?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some kinda… I dunno what they are, but they commission a lotta people who work outside the law to do their bidding or whatever.” Quite the legend in some of her… less lawful social circles. “They always use letters to communicate, hence the title. And they pay good money, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anne swiped up the envelope and ripped it open, reading it aloud for herself and Amaryllis. “Spectre, I hope this letter finds you in good condition.” The Epistolarian, writing </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleasantries</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What happened to them? “I assume you've heard of the Court, judging by whom exactly you choose to murder, and more than that, you want to take it down. I believe it serves both our interests to eliminate the King, its leader.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without warning, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>beep</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounded in her ear where her comm device was embedded. Amaryllis had disconnected—Anne didn't mind, too enraptured with the letter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>My only caveat is that you will have to work with Paragon on this mission. I understand that you two are not on the best of terms, but both she and you are vital to the plan.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Should you agree to my proposition, come to the abandoned theatre on Lancaster St. at Friday 1800. We will discuss more details of the plan in person.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That set off alarm sirens in her head, but she read on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As per my usual contracts, you will receive adequate monetary compensation for successfully carrying out your part of our deal.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The letter ended there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hm. Anne had never thought she'd get one of these.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were right—she had more than enough history with the Court and its leader to want him dead. But she also knew first-hand that this would be an incredibly risky play, and as much as she hated to admit it, she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anne glanced over the details one last time, taking a mental note, then ripped the paper to shreds and tossed them in the bin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why not kill the most powerful person in the city?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if this </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a trap? The King wouldn’t be the only person with a dagger to his throat.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Welcome to the Show</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Paragon and the Spectre meet the person who sent them an offer. Banter and negotiations ensue.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>no tws for this chapter (but if i somehow missed something please lmk!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Friday came by sooner than<span> Catherine would have liked, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. Something about these plans bothered her. Maybe it was just because she'd never worked with anyone as a vigilante so far. Maybe it was her instincts screaming, </span><em><span>No, you idiot, something always goes wrong—something will go wrong</span></em><span>.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn’t back out now, though. She wouldn’t let herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Court had to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Catherine left the office early, hoping Maria and her other colleagues didn’t mind too much. She had fifteen minutes until six in the evening, and her flat was quite the long ways away from where she was right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without much warning, the adrenaline Catherine had usually reserved for vigilante business kicked in, and by some miracle, she made it home, into her suit, and out all the way in front of the theatre with a minute or two to spare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Here goes nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, and pushed open the glass doors.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As expected, the theatre—being abandoned—had nothing more than dim, barely working light bulbs illuminating the lobby. She was surprised there was even </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> light out here, to be frank. Catherine eventually located the entrance to the main hall, and with a sigh and all senses on high alert, entered the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From where she stood, furthest from the stage, there wasn’t any light at all. Part of her (the rational side) was grateful. For the irrational side, however, it set off nothing but blaring warnings in her mind. (It was stupid, in hindsight. Of course the auditorium wouldn’t be lit up.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Catherine cast her masked eyes to the stage. A lone spotlight shone at the center of the stage, illuminating it with a royal blue hue. One hand gripped on the tonfa hanging from her belt. Her footfalls made soft thumping sounds as she walked towards the stage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She went up the stage, but stopped short at the far right side. It would be unwise to walk right into the spotlight, obviously. She surveyed the stage, and it seemed like not a single soul was there. Perhaps the Spectre and the Epistolarian enjoyed being late— </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump</span>
  </em>
  <span> brought her attention to the back left area of the theatre hall, where the other door was, and in mere seconds a glint caught her eye. Catherine dodged out of the way as a projectile of some sort—a dagger, she assumed—lightly grazed her cheek. She fought back a groan, instead peering up towards the catwalk overhead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pair of smiling eyes met hers. Catherine scoffed at the hooded figure, examining her and concluding the Spectre, with the whole fantasy rogue-esque getup,  looked even more ridiculous in person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice save,” she called from above, and swung over the metal banister, landing with surprisingly (though expected) minimal sound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is the Epistolarian?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, no </span>
  <em>
    <span>hello, Spectre. It’s rather unfortunate you aren’t dead yet</span>
  </em>
  <span> or anything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In all honesty, Catherine was oddly grateful her quote-unquote “rival” wasn’t dead. She was doing just as much good for the city as Paragon was, as unethical as her methods were. She shrugged the thought off, settling with saying, “I don’t sound like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t sound like that,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” the Spectre mocked. “And to answer your question: I don’t know where the coward is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Coward.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That’s a bit strong, isn’t it?” a third voice chimed in with a thick Manchester lilt. Catherine had the vaguest sense of familiarity with that timbre.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you weren’t a coward, you’d’ve gone and killed ‘em yourself, Letters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Catherine held her tongue. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If you weren’t a coward, you would have found other ways to handle the Court than slaughter.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was most efficient, and dare she say, necessary, she added as an afterthought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Enter: the Epistolarian, with her brimmed hat, jumpsuit, trench coat and all. Not unlike a blue Carmen Sandiego. A matching blue mask, along with the shade, concealed any trace of identity. Only the voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice of you to finally join us,” the Spectre quipped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Epistolarian nodded. “Well, the Court does need to be stopped, and it seems that those who </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be doing this won’t even bother. And for the record, I am doing everything in my power to bring them down.” She shot a glare in the other vigilante’s direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, fine. And how exactly are we doing that?” Catherine crossed her arms. “Killing the King won’t immediately destroy his criminal empire.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It won’t,” the Epistolarian agreed, “but it’s a start. I’ve contacted some sources—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Catherine’s head snapped to face the right side doors, where she’d entered earlier. Her tonfa was now in hand. From her peripherals, the Spectre had also readied one of her daggers, at a moment’s notice from sending a dagger into whoever decided to crash their little meeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you lot calm down? It’s just me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That voice didn’t ring a bell for Catherine herself, but it sure did for her other two companions. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not companions</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she corrected herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spectre cursed, sighing of relief. “Bloody hell, what are you doing here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t remember inviting you here, Castle,” the Epistolarian deadpanned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Castle stepped into full view, with dark skin that reflected shades of blue from the spotlight and clad in red and black. She took a seat at the center of the front row, cup of coffee still in hand. So this was Castle, Catherine thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The newcomer waved her off. “I got you your contact information, it seems only fair that I get to go along for the ride. You’ll need all the help you can get if you want to take down that dirty rascal.” She turned to Catherine. “Nice to finally meet you in person.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Castle was the resident jack of all trades in the vigilante world, so to speak. The civilians in the city often mistook her for just being the Spectre’s partner, or sidekick of some kind. While she, on some occasions, did go out to help Spectre on her marks, that was only a fraction of what her work was. Castle often took mission control at the Spectre’s base of operations, or so some would say. Catherine never bothered to confirm those rumors. But more importantly, she was the go-to person for information on enemies, rivals, allies and targets alike. Her connections were an undeniable, sought-after asset in their world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you,” Catherine replied. She put her weapon back in its place on her belt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spectre huffed. “Let’s get to the point, now, Letters? How are we gonna kill this guy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As I was saying”—the Epistolarian shot a brief glare to the red-adorned woman—”I’ve contacted some sources, and Agnes Howard’s annual charity gala will allegedly be a cover for some kind of Court business. And, word is, the King himself will be there in person.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An agreeing hum came from Castle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In her mind, Catherine cursed. She had received an invitation for that gala—family connections and all—and, with her parents managing the company back in Spain and her sisters away on different business trips, she’d already agreed to go on behalf of her family’s company.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Just this once, </span>
  </em>
  <span>they said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not like there will be any problems with spending a night at some fancy party,</span>
  </em>
  <span> they said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Paragon and Spectre will infiltrate the gala as it’s in full swing, and Castle, you’ll be on standby in case anything goes wrong. I’ll be running point here at the theatre.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Catherine raised an eyebrow. “When you put it like that, it doesn’t seem as difficult as it will be. Tell me, Epistolarian, do you have any resources to make sure this plan of yours goes smoothly? Or backup plans for any contingencies?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Epistolarian almost seemed offended, letting out a curt, humorless laugh. “Do you think I would attempt such a risky plan if I didn’t, Paragon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Catherine held her head high. “Fair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Count me in,” the Spectre said with such nonchalance that Catherine almost missed her saying it entirely. How was it that </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Spectre</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the elusive mystery whom even the underworld didn’t know much about, had accepted working with two strangers quicker than her? And she was supposed to be the less isolated one between them. Was she overthinking this too much?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. There could never be enough thinking when dealing with the Court.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After much deliberation, Catherine finally settled on her answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All right,” she assented, “I’ll join you on your little”—she paused, deciding not to slip in an extra word—“mission.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Epistolarian smiled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But while you seem to have faith that we can carry out this plan of yours, we cannot be sure you won’t just abandon us at the mercy of the Court when things go south.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An unreadable look fell upon the Spectre and Castle’s faces, Catherine could tell. She turned to the Epistolarian, half expecting her to defend herself, or at least deny the claims. She raised an eyebrow. “Well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, no, you’re right,” the Epistolarian agreed, “I can and have done that in the past. But can you really trust anyone here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that moment, Spectre’s face—the part that wasn’t covered by her mask, anyway—contorted into a scowl, but she looked away. Her hand twitched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Spectre snarled, “All three of us will be out there. We’re the ones at risk. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> won’t lose anything if this goes wrong.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman in blue froze, eyes downcast. She looked up as if she were about to refute that, but no words came.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold on, why don’t we just do it without ‘er?” the Spectre said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need me. For starters, I have access to the building schematics which not even Castle was able to acquire.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Castle grumbled something, though Catherine couldn’t comprehend a word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to bring down the King and his Court at this opportunity. They might not get another one. But there aren’t any certainties that the Epistolarian would stay loyal to the mission, unless…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Insurance,” she murmured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Castle and the Spectre said near-simultaneously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give us something of value. If you abandon us, we leverage it to the Court,” Catherine directed her words to the Epistolarian. “Unless you have a better idea, that is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if I don’t?” She clarified, “Abandon you, that is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever it is, it’s with us for safekeeping,” the Spectre replied. “’s only fair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All right, then. What might I be able to offer you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s up to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Epistolarian stayed quiet for a minute, two minutes, three. In all honesty, Catherine thought she was going to make a run for it. Then—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will my identity suffice?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question had taken the others aback, reactions ranging from shock and concern, to curiosity and amusement, to flat-out disagreement. However, all three had the same thought: </span>
  <em>
    <span>What was this woman thinking?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Promise me this won’t leave this room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They agreed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Catherine gasped, eyes wide. Everything clicked in her mind as the hat and mask were taken off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Catherine,” she introduced herself, “Catherine Parr.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the type of dialogue in this chapter isn't really my strong suit so apologies if it's kinda sloppy lol.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Every Rose Has Its Thorns</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A peek into the precarious life of one Katherine Howard.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <b>
    <i>tw: brief mention of implied grooming/underage relationship<i><b></b></i></i>
  </b>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“… I believe it serves both </em>
  <em>
    <span>our interests to eliminate the King, its leader.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A silent curse left Katherine’s lips as she disconnected the earpiece connecting her to the Spectre. She wasn’t supposed to be a part of this, and she wasn’t going to start now. It would only complicate her situation further. But maybe there was a chance… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kat shook her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grabbed her laptop and other things, resolving to hide them back in the loose floorboards under her bed. Couldn’t let anyone see—or worse, get their hands on—her business. The three sharp raps against the door only made her pick up her pace. Kat returned the floorboards just before three more sharp raps pierced the silence of her room. She ran towards the door, knowing exactly who was on the other end, and cracked open the lock and turned the knob.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mister—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The person on the other side raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. It’s just you.” Internally, Kat breathed a sigh of relief. The newcomer was much less observant than who she was expecting. She was safe, for now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Isabel stepped into her room, looking around as though she had never really seen what it looked like inside—and that wasn’t far off from the truth. Kat was much more reserved than her siblings. Isabel Leigh was Kat’s older half-sister on her late mother’s side, and it showed. Her sister was a splitting image of their mother, and by all accounts, just as graceful and outgoing. Completely opposite of Kat, most had noted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you heard? Nan’s throwing another gala in a few days’ time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I know. Francis is…” She bit her tongue. “Mr. Dereham asked for my help with organizing this one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lucky!” Eh. “I’d give anything to organize a party over doing uni work.” Isabel scrunched up her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“By the way,” Isabel started, “you didn’t come down for dinner a while ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I was”—busy helping the Spectre with her newest target—“still full. I’ll just grab a snack from the cupboard later.” Kat forced a smile. “Don’t worry about me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, erm. Yeah. Of course.” Isabel looked a bit crestfallen. Kat almost felt bad. “Just call if you need anything, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded. “Yeah.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good night, Kat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kat shut the door much quicker than she would’ve liked. She slumped down, leaning against it, until she touched the hardwood floors. A sigh escaped her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If—when—she got out of here, she would miss Isabel, as much as she hated to admit it. Part of her, the guilty part, knew that her family would only be in more pain when she’d leave the Court. They were merciless, after all, most of all the King.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kat wasn’t oblivious to the rumors. She knew what the courtiers were whispering amongst each other—after all, it was her job to catch threads of stories and gossip and weaponize them. It was a job out of necessity, and she was good at it. Yet it had still caught her off guard that the King had eyes on her, of all people. She somewhat wondered if he knew of her relationship with Francis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she’d leave, her family would be at the receiving end of his wrath. It had happened once before, in Court history, and she knew it would happen again. Kat wished it didn’t have to be like this, but such were the ways of the Court. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She got up, begrudgingly, and moved to her bed to mope herself to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kat blinked, once, twice, three times, and her eyes fluttered open to be hit by the harsh rays of daylight. She groaned. It was much too early to be awake. Kat was just about to return to her slumber, face-first into the pillow, when she remembered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Dereham didn’t like it when she was late.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just the thought of it was enough to energize Kat tenfold. She sprung off from under the duvet and ran off to get herself sorted. She picked off a cute outfit in her signature pink, topping it off with her favorite choker—a black, studded beauty with a small silver </span>
  <em>
    <span>K</span>
  </em>
  <span> charm dangling from it. She tied her hair into a high ponytail, grabbed some plain toast, and sprinted off to catch the Tube to the gala venue. Francis had told her to meet him there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She arrived at the location in the nick of time. Francis was already there, going over some papers attached to a clipboard. He looked up from it as she entered the venue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Katherine.” He checked his watch, but said nothing. Kat released the breath she was holding. “I need you to find a caterer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But we we already have a caterer—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That backed out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Barely a week before—?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Francis’ voice took on an irritated tone. “Now please, Katherine, get to work.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She squeaked out an assent, mentally berating herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Dereham doesn’t like it when you ask questions, Kat. Shut up and do your job.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kat made herself comfortable sitting atop the stage, legs dangling and barely touching the floor beneath her feet. She pulled out her phone and looked up information on the past galas her step-grandmother had hosted, hoping to find a suitable catering company to fill in on such short notice. Surely this wasn’t the first time a mishap like this had happened?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By noon Kat had already found one Milbank Catering Services, that had—with some convincing—agreed to cater the gala in the other company’s absence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Across the road from the venue was the Two Mills Café, where Kat had taken to spending her lunches in. The bell rang overhead as she entered the quaint coffee shop, the smell of sweet, freshly-baked pastries wafting the air. With a skip in her step, Kat approached the counter. The cashier, Julian, grinned upon seeing her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” he said, “your usual order?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kat nodded. “Yep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She left the money and went to the table by the window. Her favourite spot in the whole café. In the distance, a flock of colourful birds flew across the clear skies. Part of her envied them, honestly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t long until her food had arrived: a stack of French toast topped with syrup and berries, and a steaming cup of coffee on the side. It was a bit unconventional to have French toast for lunch, but Kat really didn’t mind. She, for one, loved it in all its sweet glory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kat wolfed down the dish, not realizing until then how hungry she’d been. Maybe she should have eaten a proper breakfast after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kat looked up from her plate. Julian stood before her, looking as nervous as he would be trying to hide a cat from his parents. (Kat may or may not be thinking from experience.) It was a stark contrast from how she usually saw him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this seat taken?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” she replied, “but aren’t you supposed to be working?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s, ah, my break.” He took a seat, and clarified: “Early break.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Julian continued, “So, you work for Agnes Howard’s gala committee?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Kat downed the rest of her coffee. “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a second, he paled, looking ready to bolt—an expression Kat was awfully familiar with making and hiding. His fingers twitched. He grabbed a clean paper napkin from the holder and scribbled down some words, handing it to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re… different,” he said. “Just a hunch. But if you know what that means, I’ll know for sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kat forced herself to keep her face neutral as she read the writing on the napkin, and it was bloody hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she glanced back up, Julian had already gone.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry it's a bit filler-y. kat's situation was supposed to have just one chapter dedicated to it but it kinda got pretty long so it became two ksjhfks. by the way, happy halloween everyone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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